


Carpe Diem

by kessinger



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Fluff and Smut, College AU, Drama & Romance, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Gender-neutral Reader, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, So everyone can get some Daredevil love, sort of canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:03:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6050971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kessinger/pseuds/kessinger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College is supposedly the time where you're supposed to figure out where you want to go and who you want to be. Matt's got the first part down and a best friend/business partner to support him all the way. The rest?-- not so much.</p><p>You have the second part down and two best friends (and a very apathetic roommate) that helped you get there, but the first part?-- not so much. </p><p>So, everyone's confused. But maybe if you get two people who are each missing something the other needs and put them together, they'll fit like puzzle pieces and then, just maybe, the picture will start to make sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 'let us go then, you and I'

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! So I used to write reader inserts a lot, but it's been a good while since I've written a lengthy story. I'm really inspired by Daredevil (thanks to the Deadpool movie I'm on a Marvel kick right now) and I wanted to write something for the community, so I decided to take the opportunity to get back in the writing game!
> 
> One thing that bugged me about some of the stories I came across with Matt (or maybe it's just me) is that some are REALLY fast paced. Like "I just met you in this chapter and now we're making out on the couch as we fall madly in love" kind of fast paced. Inspired by a bunch of the other slow burn romance stories I follow in other fandoms, I wanted to try my hand at it and see if I can make it awesomely dark and dramatic like the Netflix series itself!
> 
> This is a really long author's note, sorry about that. I'm just really excited because I want to go the whole nine yards and push myself with this project, make it something I'm proud of! So, without further ado, here's Carpe Diem.

Matthew Murdock was alone. 

Light filtered prettily through the chapel's stained glass windows, but the ambiance was lost on him as he murmured softly to himself. He leaned heavily on the pew where he knelt, tension knotting below his ribs. His gut coiled in anticipation at the nagging feeling that tugged at his stomach, and, impassioned, he prayed feverishly. He waited for the clouds to part, lightning to strike, something. But nothing happened. He was left exactly as he was before, skin warmed by fractals of color streaming through the windows, a Bible jutting from the pew's book rack and poking him in the ribs. Despite the tumult of emotions that welled in him, however, his outward expression remained impassive.

He couldn't afford to stay, as much as he would have liked to continue trying to coax answers out of the musty chapel air. He had class in twenty. Matt inhaled deeply, his senses overwhelmed by the pungent smell of wood and old incense. He exited the campus chapel tight lipped and restless.

"Matt!" A disembodied voice called out to him a few yards ahead. Matt slowed, turning towards the voice.

"Foggy!" Matt greeted, smiling too brightly. Foggy read him with embarrassing ease.

"What's up?" _(What's wrong?)_ Foggy asked. 

"Nothing much." Matt replied evasively, flashing Foggy another smile. Foggy seemed unconvinced, but didn't push the matter. Matt's watch beeped pointedly-- ten minutes to class.

"Tardy again Murdock?" Foggy said, clicking his tongue. "For shame. That'll be twenty lashings and no supper."

"You're really cracking the whip, Foggy." Matt said, amused.

"Please. Professor Hammerhan has put everyone through way worse."

"True, but I have to get going." Matt said, adjusting his glasses with his cane tucked under his arm.

"Uh-huh, before Hammerhan really does give you twenty lashings-- or dunks you in hot oil. Or pulls out your fingernails! Good news is you can sue--"

"Bye Foggy." Matt sighed, beginning to jog away, his cane quickly tapping side-to-side on the cobblestone path. 

"You sure you can find your way?" Foggy shouted after him. 

"I think so." Matt called over his shoulder. Foggy accompanied him anyway. Truthfully, Matt had learned Columbia's campus backwards and forwards by the middle of sophomore year. And realistically, he knew that it wasn't overtly necessary for him to rush-- he was blind, a fact he readily admits he has used a few times against particularly stringent professors when he was late to their seminars (oh, so sorry Professor, I made a wrong turn not being able to see and all, could you please open the door?). 

No one in their right mind would shut out a blind man, after all.

And he was right. He walked into Professor Hammerhan's class without incident for once, found the nearest empty seat, and spaced out for the rest of the class.

# __________

Elsewhere, Foggy was biding his time in the university's library until his next class. He claimed occupancy of one of the larger study tables surrounded by several stacks of books, much to the chagrin of the library assistant.

"You plan to put those back, right?" The assistant said from afar, sitting at the main desk shuffling papers. Foggy's face broke out into a wide grin.

"______, it's been awhile! Where have you been?" Foggy called out amicably. The assistant hastily shushed him as they jogged over, not bothering to point out that Foggy had just seen them last week.

"Quiet, quiet! Christ." The assistant winced as they more closely surveyed the multitude of books Foggy had at his disposal. "Did you take out the entire library or what?" 

"Easy, I only took out a few things from the forensics section."

"Then what's Socrates doing here?"

"... I might've swung by the ethics section too." Foggy's companion groaned. 

"We don't even have an ethics sect-- you know what, never mind. Why do you have to make my job difficult?"

"It's not a choice, ______-- it's imperative! How else are you gonna prepare for the real world if someone doesn't come in here and mess up all your neat and tidy books every once in awhile?" Foggy tried to suppress his wicked grin in vain. The assistant exhaled and looked wistfully at the clock. Seems they were going to have to go a little over their shift this afternoon.

"Okay, but seriously, what's with all the books?" They finally asked, picking a book from the top of one pile and flipping through it.

"Well, it started as a report I was doing for Gallagher's class-- but then I started getting inspired, and now I'm thinking this might become an undergrad thesis sort of deal." The assistant gawked.

"A thesis! Why go through all of that Foggy? The first semester has barely ended--"

"And we're in our senior year, ______. If I want any chance of getting into somewhere reputable for my master's degree I've gotta step my game up." Foggy emphasized his point by gesturing to the wide spread of books. He was met with a sigh.

"It's gonna kill you, you know that, right?" Foggy nodded and hummed cheerfully in agreement. "You and your roommate are insane, the both of you." 

"Speaking of which, you really gotta meet him sometime, you'd love him."

"How can you be so sure?" The assistant countered skeptically, returning the book they held to the pile they found it. "Not to doubt your judgement-- actually yeah, I doubt your judgement--" Ignoring the affronted look from Foggy, they continued, "But me and the people you've tried to introduce me to in that friend circle of yours haven't meshed all that well." Foggy opened his mouth to argue. "Say what you will Fogs, but I just don't like Marci."

"You liked Karen! And is this really all about Marci? ______, I told you--"

"I know Foggy, I get it. I'm sure she's a lovely lady. She just really rubs me the wrong way, is that a crime?" Foggy's eyes darted to one of his law books.

"We-e-ell... ow! Assault and battery! Assault and-- ow!" He yelped as the library assistant swatted him with one of the thinner books he had in his arsenal. When his peer relented, he scowled playfully. "You're so mean!"

"And you're rude and messy. Are you going to check those out?" The assistant asked.

"You just don't want to put them back."

"Your point?"

"Touche."

The assistant walked with Foggy to the entrance of the library, holding the doors open for him as he stumbled out cradling a tower of books. 

"Now you're sure you don't need help with those." They said, cautiously eyeing the books that wobbled with each step Foggy took. 

"No! If Matt can navigate this campus without seeing, then I can carry a few books to my--" The library assistant gasped as Foggy took a wayward step in the wrong direction, sending himself toppling down the last two stairs of the library and sprawling across the pathway. "Dorm..." He sighed. His companion tried to suppress a chuckle at seeing Foggy laying on the cobblestone like a starfish, all his books spreading out and circling him like an unfortunate halo. "______! You traitor, stop laughing!" Foggy said indignantly, slowly picking himself up off the ground. The assistant regained enough composure to help him, gathering all of the books in a few minutes.

"Right. I'll carry half. Where's your dorm?" They asked before Foggy had time to object.


	2. 'when the evening is spread out against the sky'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Reader meets Columbia's most eligible bachelor thanks to Foggy's clumsiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was kind of a crappy day in more ways than one-- my computer is kind of busted, so I'm currently working on my older laptop that kind of faded into oblivion, but now is less dead and usable, so that's good. That's also kind of why today's chapter is probably on the short side, and I'm sorry for that. I spent today trying to fix my other computer.
> 
> Long story short, take good care of your tech kids. And if it's plugged in to its charger and perched precariously on the arm rest of a couch, don't step on the charger? Or your computer'll go flying-- right into the hardwood floor. 
> 
> Let me know if there's any typos in this chapter I overlooked? I'm usually pretty good about that, but I do goof every now and again.

You had never been in the dormitories before. It wasn't in the budget. Not to mention there was only so much fabled scholarship money to go around-- whatever surplus expenses came around had to be used to take care of more important things. Still, you heard rather awful things about dormitories anyway, horror stories of insect infestations and crumbling infrastructure, property destroyed by parties, the like. So, when you followed Foggy into the tidy male quarters, you were pleasantly surprised. Everything was intact, and clean. That was already a letter grade up from your place.

"What, you thought we were a bunch of slobs? How sexist, ______." Foggy had joked.

You trailed after Foggy up what must have been the fifth flight of stairs ("The elevator's out of order," He explained) until he quickly veered right down a long, winding corridor. You're craning your neck around the wavering mass of plastic and paper in your arms to try and predict where you both may be going, but Foggy's stride is fast and doesn't give much indication of slowing. Door after white door skirts past in your peripherals-- how long was this hallway? You crash into Foggy's back as he stops abruptly, books toppling from your hold. The force of you walking into Foggy jostles him too, and you both cringe as the last of the books come raining down.

"... Smooth, ______."

"Smooth me?! You're the one who checked out all these books!"

"You made me check them out so you wouldn't have to put them back!" 

Bickering ensues as the two of you stood surrounded by an orbit of law texts and ethics handbooks in the empty corridor. You hear your own voices reverberating off the pale walls, and wonder fleetingly if the both of you are being a disturbance and risk being thrown out-- it didn't matter to you but it could cause problems for Foggy. A door opens in the midst of the commotion.

"Foggy? What's going on?" A calm voice asks from a few feet down the hallway. You and Foggy both fall silent and look to the speaker walking towards you, a dark-haired young man. An apology is ready at your mouth as you feel a twinge of embarrassment-- you hope to God the guy isn't Resident Assistant-- until Foggy did what he did best and completely shattered any semblance of tension.

"Matt!" He exclaims happily, "There's someone I want you to meet!" The guy (Matt?) smiles expectantly from behind his dark tinted glasses. In that moment, it struck you.

"Foggy Nelson!" You cried out. "This is Matt?" Foggy and Matt both look startled at your outcry as Foggy stumbles over his words, taken aback by your reaction. You almost pity how confused the two of them look and are quick to explain, turning to Matt. "You helped the elderly man all those years ago in that car accident--"

"It was a truck--"

"Shut it Foggy, you didn't tell me your roommate was that Matt." Matt has the decorum to look a little abashed, but still amused.

"Here I thought people had forgotten about me." He teased, hands idly twisting the handle of his cane. "It's nice that people appreciate what I did, but I can't help but wonder if the news gets old after a while."

"Well, maybe to some, but-- that wasn't just any old man you saved, it was someone I knew." You added. Foggy makes a noise of disbelief and Matt looks slightly stunned.

"Really?" Matt gives a huff of laughter, temporarily speechless. "Small world." He says quietly, almost to himself.

"Yes, really." You laughed with him, holding back more praise at the risk of making him uncomfortable. That, and you were getting the feeling Matt was growing tired of all the attention he receives from the incident-- the campus still buzzed with his name now and again, and you wouldn't blame him if he wanted to disassociate his name from the 'local hero' image he procured all those years ago. You switched gears. "Foggy, aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Seems like you had that covered, ______." Foggy said, "Everyone's always stepping on my lines." He grumbled jokingly.

"Yeah, but that didn't count. I didn't get a formal introduction." You protested, pushing Foggy to help steer the conversation. 

"Oh, sincerest apologies Your Highness. Sir Matt," Foggy began, stepping to the side and gesturing widely to you, "High and Mighty ______, Keeper of Books. High and Mighty ______," Foggy's arms swept widely in Matt's direction amidst snickers from you both, "Sir Matt." 

"A pleasure." Matt responded with a wry smirk.

"Same." You said lamely, still laughing quietly to yourself. You glance at Foggy to find him looking appreciatively at you and Matt, swaying on his feet and waiting for something. He's happy this is going so well, that much is easy to tell just from looking at him. When your eyes meet Foggy's, he nods enthusiastically, encouragingly-- say something else! he silently implores. You come up short for the first time in the conversation, wracking your brain for something to say. Ask Matt about his major? It's such a basic, almost stupid question-- that won't make an impression, you think disparagingly to yourself. Your train of thought hiccups as you realize you've never really cared about first impressions with regular people until now.

"How do you two know each other?" Matt asks, saving you from your predicament. He vaguely gestures to you and Foggy with a sway of his cane (he talks a lot with it, doesn't he?).

"We were in Criminal Justice together last semester," Foggy started, "One of those last minute elective things, fill a spot in the schedule, you know."

"Same." You added, mentally kicking yourself (like you didn't already just say that). Matt hummed appreciatively.

"Are you interested in criminal justice?" He asked, inclining his head towards you. His gaze was slightly off center, but was otherwise rather accurate, which surprised you.

"Not exactly, I'm majoring in Journalism." You clarified, smiling with some uncertainty. Matt grinned knowingly.

"One of your professors-- Urich, Ben Urich, right?" It was your turn to be surprised.

"Yes, actually, how did you know?"

"He can make a journalist out of anyone he talks to," Matt said admiringly, "Almost convinced me to go into journalism myself, but Foggy was more persuasive." He added on a light note, good-naturedly tapping the handle of his cane against Foggy's shoulder. 

"Long story short, we're starting a law firm." Foggy interjected excitedly, with an air of confidence. The way Matt beams in agreement, wholly sharing in Foggy's enthusiasm, strikes you as hopelessly endearing-- and you find yourself sharing in their excitement, it's just contagious. The moment is sobered, however, when another student weaves through the labyrinth of books you and Foggy left on the floor. Sheepishly, you and Foggy glance at each other. "... We should probably pick those up." 

"Yeah..." You say as hastily kneel and begin scooping the books together, Foggy gathering novels a few feet away. For a few seconds there's only the sound of covers sliding against carpet, but then it's accompanied by a rhythmic tapping. You look up to see Matt shuffling around, using his cane to locate books and gather them as well. "Matt, you don't have to!"-- You said, feeling guilty that you were allowing someone who was blind to try and do something that typically required sight. It felt cruel even if Matt was doing it of his own volition.

"______, I am more capable than I look." He said it with an assuring smile that told of years of learned patience-- patience undoubtedly gained from dealing with people constantly assuming his abilities and limits. But you found yourself intrigued by the quiet assurance in his words-- where did someone get that kind of confidence? (He's probably such a lady killer, you think)-- You double take at the thought and try to focus on chasing a stray work of Charles Dickens across the carpet.

"So, where to?" Matt asks, straightening up with his stack of books with Foggy standing shortly after.

"Right into our room, buddy." Foggy says with a slightly perverse grin, Matt sighing.

"Your side of the room." He warns tiredly, "I'm not losing another report because you leave your things everywhere." Foggy laughs, giving Matt a brotherly shove as he shoulders his way into their shared room. You stifle a laugh yourself as Matt rolls his eyes, the action visible despite his shades. "Hope he didn't cause you too much trouble." He says lowly to you.

"Only a bit." You respond, quickly dipping into the doorway to set the books on the nearest flat surface before joining rejoining Matt in the hall right outside. Foggy speedily grabs the final stack of books from Matt's arms and disappears inside the room, shuffling and moving.

"I should probably go in, make sure he's touching what he's supposed to." Matt muttered, obviously recalling a time where his roommate and close friend was less than prudent with his property. You're smiling despite yourself.

"No, it's fine, I get it. Hopefully I'll be seeing you around?"

"Count on it." He says with another teasing half smile (he's really good at those, you think) before entering the shared room, the door closing shut behind him.

(Really really good at those.)


	3. 'like a patient etherized upon a table'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Matt is totally not buying Foggy being his wingman and you and Karen get hooked up with the school project that will become plot relevant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please tell me of any typos I overlooked?
> 
> Also open to suggestions and theories for future chapters-- and thank you to my one faithful commenter and first kudos, I'm happy to know I definitely have an audience. XD
> 
> As a side note, I hate it when reader-insert authors over describe things like Reader's clothes or unnecessary details-- it kills immersion sometimes (Reader is wearing pigtails? I would never wear pigtails wtf), so I try to do that as little as possible. But I promise that when I'm specifying something like Reader's major, it's relevant. Maybe not now, but it will be, promise!
> 
> I wrote this whole chapter on my phone haha ENJOY

Matt was finding it difficult to enjoy himself.

Which was unfortunate, because strolling through Columbia's sprawling campus with Foggy was sort of his way of relaxing. He tended to think too much when he was left to his own devices, so Foggy's perpetual good humor and seemingly endless stream of topics to talk about was a welcome distraction. But Foggy was weirdly off his mark today-- he would talk idly, but with noticeable pauses stretching in between. Matt's mind was wrought with possibilities as he quietly speculated the source of his friend's strange behavior.

First and foremost, Foggy's breath kept hitching in his chest-- he wants to say something but won't, and normally that would be worrying. That is, if Foggy wasn't practically radiating smugness as he lazily walked next to Matt-- God, Matt could feel him smiling and it was beginning to drive him slightly insane. Was there a 'kick me' sign on his back that he wasn't aware of? 

"What's up Foggy." It wasn't a question.

"Did you like ______?" Foggy asked in a tone that betrayed his motives. Matt breathed heavily.

"Please don't set me up on another date." He pled, firm hand squeezing Foggy's shoulder.

"Oh come on! They're single and certifiably sane, what more could you want?" Foggy argued.

"It's not that simple, Foggy..." Matt sighed, releasing Foggy's shoulder to comb his fingers through his own hair. "I'm serious. No matchmaking, okay?" 

"Fine, fine-- only trying to do you a favor." Foggy obliged, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Did you only introduce them to me just for that?" Matt asked, irritation lightly flushing against his skin. 

"If I couldn't find the man or lady for you Murdock, I wanted to at least find you another friend." Matt was taken aback by Foggy's earnest answer.

"Why?" He muttered.

"Because you can't get through life with only one friend, idiot." 

"I have other friends!" Matt said indignantly.

"You only met Karen five months ago, buddy-- people need to be around half a year plus to count as official friend material." Foggy drawled. "And although I'm big enough to count for two, I'm still only one guy." He added. Matt opened his mouth to further object, but knew that regardless of the argument he made, Foggy had a point.

"You'd make a great lawyer." It was Mattspeak for _'you make a good argument',_ which was as close to an admission of defeat that Foggy would probably ever get out of Matt. Which he was totally fine with.

"Listen Matt, don't do anything you don't want to. Romantic stuff aside, I think ______ could be good for you." Foggy patted Matt heartily on the back. "Don't sweat it."

They continued onwards.

# __________

"So you met Matt?" She whispered under her breath.

"Uh-huh." ______ whispered back, nodding. Karen leaned closer, allowing her hair to fall forward and form a blonde curtain between her and Professor Urich. 

"What do you think?" She asked in a hushed voice, casting a wayward glance at the professor at the front of the room. 

"Of Matt?" ______ said questioningly. "I mean, he's nice--" They stated lamely, feeling their face grow hot at the skeptical look they received from Karen.

"Nice? That's all?" She pried, looking for a deeper answer. ______ shrugged self consciously, not sure what Karen expects them to say. Karen straightened back in her seat. "He's a wanted man." She stated almost ominously.

"What?" ______ stammered. "By who?"

"... Almost every woman on campus." Karen finished, unable to contain her smile any longer. She covered her mouth with her hand to suppress her huff of laughter at the utterly unimpressed expression of her classmate.

"You need to spend less time around Foggy." ______ stated stoically before focusing their attention back to the front of the room.

Ben Urich crossed the stage of the vast classroom, the large projection screen blinking to a new slide behind him.

"... And so, your final project." He was met with disbelieving mutters that travelled around the room. "I know, why give a final project half way through the year?" Professor Urich pauses. "I'm assigning this now, because it is not just a project. Do it right, it can be your ticket to a career when you graduate this summer." He continues.

"It's also the time to show me what you got. Show me what you learned. You all are here because of your dedication, and commitment. You're here not because you wanna write for tabloids-- not even because you wanna write." He chuckles.

"You're here because you value the truth. Because you have a strong sense of morale that compels you to make sure people know that truth. It takes more than decent command of a language and a thesaurus to be a journalist-- it takes guts. Real journalism transcends fear of job loss, fear of public backlash, fear of harm. Journalists relentlessly go after the stories they know only they can tell-- because it's worth it, if it means informing folks. It's necessary-- and it's the heart and soul of the practice." 

"And so, your project. For your final project, you are to choose a story, follow it, report it. It can be anything, but make it a good one, don't half-ass it. That means no stories about your pets, no stories about your grandma-- and if you do, your grandma better be a Nobel Prize winner, because you all need to pick something _worth reading._ " He summarized. "If it's good enough," He added, "It might just be published in the local paper."

"The school paper?" A voice calls from the back.

"That'd be good, maybe-- I was thinking something more along the lines of the New York Bulletin." Professor Urich said, his mouth betraying a slight smile. The class clamored at the news, the raptured silence during Urich's speech utterly falling apart at the proposition. 

"Oh my God!" ______ heard Karen exclaim excitedly beside them, looking at them enthusiastically. "______, we should ask if we can work together--"

"You're allowed to work with one other partner," Professor Urich called over the crowd with impeccable timing. "Or several-- see me about it in advance."

______ and Karen looked happily at each other in sync, and conveyed wordlessly what they'd already started thinking--

"Partners?"

"Partners." Karen opened her laptop.

"Now, what's our story?"


	4. 'let us go, through half-deserted streets'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Foggy insistently gets everyone drunk at Josie's and you come home with a drunk friend, much to the chagrin of your roommate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I have a huge school project to work on, semi-daily updates won't resume until next after next Wednesday-- sorry! Also, the real schmoozing between Matt and Reader will start next chapter, okay? There's just a little more of the scene to set, and then this ship is sailing, woot woot!

The Internet was falling depressingly short today.

Eight browser tabs and roughly twelve websites. So far that is the extent of your research for your grand master project, which was already more than what you did for that horrific paper assigned in Castillo's class back in December. Narrative Writing was a bitch. 

Anyway, you're working on browser tab number nine when you feel your brain just kind of fizzle and blink out. It probably isn't but it feels like it's sagging in your skull and you don't need to call Claire to know that's not healthy. It's also a good hard sign that it's probably time for a break, because maintaining constant eye contact with the laptop screen for five-going-on-six hours is probably not healthy either. Claire would lecture the hell out of you right now if she could-- being a medical student gave you ultimate dibs on advising others about their health. It might be annoying, but you think it's sweet. Even endearing, in a mom-of-friend-group sort of way. Hell knows your roommate isn't exactly jumping up to run to the drugstore for you when you're feeling contagious, so you'll take Momma Claire any day.

Speaking of your roommate. "Elektra?" Silence. "Elektra!" Still nothing.

You gently displace your laptop to your duvet and venture into the hallway. Throwing open the door to Elektra's completely off-limits room shows nothing, hardly surprising. Venturing to the kitchen reveals a note emblazoned with wide, sweeping script: 'Back later.', which is a pleasant change, because Elektra doesn't usually leave a note. She just leaves and comes back, leaves and comes back-- like a cat. Maybe you could have a little flap in the front door installed for her?

On the counter your phone emits a whining, keening buzz. Another message from Foggy. Foggy's efforts at coaxing you out of your apartment were admirable, but ineffective. You know, you kind of miss his commentary in Criminal Justice, but you are far from blowing up his phone with texts. And you were _this close_ to telling Foggy that you only saw him as friend and were not interested, nip whatever in the bud, but his texts weren't about you and him. They were about you, him, and _Matt._

Froggy [Tues 6:09 PM] : told you you'd like matt! isn't he cool?  
Froggy [Wed 8:33 AM] : hey! me and matt are going for coffee before class, wanna come?  
Froggy [Thurs 3:12 PM] : library's a lot quieter without you yelling at me, where r u? matt needs help finding something  
Froggy [Fri 5:28 AM] : karen, matt and i are going for drinks later. wanna come? you can bring claire if you want  
Froggy [Sat 11:55 PM] : dude i hate to keep bothering you but you even alive??? i haven't seen you around  
Froggy [Sat 1:41 PM]: there's like these underclassmen in your place at the library and they don't even know where stuff is  
Froggy [Sun 12:00 PM]: do you know if the library has thurgood marshall? matt needs it

Matt Matt Matt.

On another note, Foggy misspelled his name in your phone contacts and still doesn't know, which makes this whole texting spam bearable and still funny after six weeks. You respond.

______ [Sun 5:11 PM]: Idk, it should? I'll ask about it when i go back

You think for a second, and add:

______ [Sun 5:12 PM]: sorry about dropping off the face of the earth. I've been doing research for a project

And send. You're hardly surprised at _'Froggy's'_ nearly immediate reply.

Froggy [Sun 5:15 PM]: apology accepted! actually no, not accepted, you have to make it up to me by coming to dinner with us  
Froggy [Sun 5:15 PM]: by us i mean karen, matt, and i-- since you didn't come last time

That was predictable and you're surprised you don't see it coming. Part of you really doesn't want to go-- it's more compelling to stay home, but less so knowing that your project is going to be haunting you around your apartment if you do. Fresh air might do you some good, maybe prevent you from flinging your laptop out the window if nothing else. It's just a matter of finding out where and when--

Froggy [Sun 5:19 PM]: Josie's. we go there all the time-- 94 Bedford Ave, be there in 30

Fine by you. All that was left was to strip out of your dismally wrinkled pajamas and change into something presentable. You settle on something simple, you doubt that Josie's is a black-tie formal kind of deal-- college students could barely afford decent groceries let alone champagne. But if someone was willing to pick up the tab, you weren't going to complain. Still, you wouldn't be rude. You tuck a twenty into your pocket and figured at worst you'll have a water and an appetizer. As you're halfway out the door, you wonder if you should leave a note for Elektra like she did for you. In all honesty, Elektra probably didn't do it for your sake. You're not even sure if she likes you; you doubt that the sudden communication is because of a change of heart. 

You decide not to leave one. And outside you went.

# __________

So Foggy didn't tell you this was a dive bar.

Not that you didn't _like_ dive bars, they were just hard to find, particularly at nighttime (read: you passed the place twice on accident). Josie's was very unassuming; the inside so dark you thought it was closed. You mentally resolved that if this was all a prank that you were going to punch Foggy next time you saw him (and then, he could find his own damned books). The bright neon 'JOSIE'S' flickered in the wide street window, the only significant source of external light for the restaurant. Looking closer now, the faint silhouettes of people could be made out inside. You wonder which one of those watery shadows belong to Matt.

A high, tinkling ring announced your arrival as you pushed through the door. Your hand trails across one of the square hardwood tables in the middle of the floor as you advance, not too far from the worn booths that lined the wall opposite of the bar. Your eyes had to adjust to the low, bluish lights that glowed from the TVs and bare light bulbs. Sports and travel paraphernalia cluttered the walls, license plates and vintage baseball bats glinting faintly. The wall was covered in photos of smiling, blurry people-- like someone's scrapbook. Looking up revealed not a ceiling but a labyrinth of black pipes that gently hissed and sighed. This place has been around for awhile.

"______?" The voice is low and distinct. You turn around and Matt is half-smiling at you in that way he does as he nods over to the bar. "We're sitting over there."

"Oh hey!" Foggy called jovially as you and Matt approached. "Karen, look who finally accepted my--" Foggy's sentence was punctuated by a hiccup. "--Invitation." You wedged yourself in a stool between Matt and Karen.

"'The Keeper of Books.'" Matt chuckled, trying to quietly pull the beer bottle away from his slightly inebriated best friend. Foggy whined in protest, his hand sluggishly chasing after Matt's.

"Foggy, I thought you were supposed to be the designated driver...!" Karen said indignantly. Her cheeks were flushed as she sipped from the shot glass in her hand, trying to glare seriously at Foggy. 

"Matt can drive." He responded. 

"Sure about that, Fogs?" You snorted, taking a swig of the water glass that the woman working the bar slid in front of you (you wonder if that's Josie). 

"Okay okay, okay," Karen said, holding up her finger, "What's worse? Driving blind..." She began, "Or driving drunk?"

"It's a solid tie." Matt answered, sipping Foggy's beer.

"Ma-a-att..." Foggy complained, "That's mine."

"It is?" Matt's unoccupied hand briefly felt around the bar before closing around his drink. "Oh, shit." He laughed.

"You asshole," Foggy muttered, "I can't... drink that now. You have--" He fumbles around for a word. "Cooties. Man-cooties." It occurs to you that maybe you should be filming this. Drunk Foggy is legendary. As Matt rolls his eyes behind his glasses, the TV comes into focus behind you.

 _"And, our latest story tonight-- another fraud scheme, this time, a construction company. Berkley National is being sued by more than a dozen tenants of a new apartment complex that opened in the Upper West Side a month ago after allegedly conning tenants out of hundreds of thousands of dollars for unneeded repairs--"_ You nudge Karen with your arm.

"Hey, Karen-- listen to this." Her eyes come into better focus as she looks at the flatscreen propped up on the wall behind you. 

_"-- Berkley National is one of several companies that have been found guilty of fraud over the past six months, however, no connection between these previous fraud cases and Berkley has been made. The cases are currently being investigated by the New York City Police Department."_

"You wanna try that?" You ask, pointing to the TV.

"For what, the project?" She asks. 

"Duh." She grins widely.

"That's something I can drink to." She says, happily draining the last of the liquid in her glass.

# __________

You and Karen see Foggy and Matt off in a taxi. You offered to help Matt try and wrangle a drunk Foggy into the car, but Matt deftly coaxed his friend into his seat despite being buzzed himself. Weirdly enough, Matt wasn't seeming all that drunk-- then again, he didn't seem all that blind either. He barely used his cane in the restaurant, hell, he rarely fumbled when reaching for something like his drink (but, you reasoned, he probably knew things by rote anyhow, right?). The only indication that Matt was a little off kilter was his reddened face and perpetual smile. He barely swayed when he walked, the cane probably helped with that, which was more than you could currently say for Foggy or Karen.

"I love you guys!" Karen cried and waved as the taxi drove away, almost making to follow the vehicle until she was stopped by her arm linked in yours. 

"Oh my god Karen, you are so-- you're done for tonight." You sighed, looking for a cab to signal. "Where do you live?" 

"I dunno-- just... let me look..." Karen hummed, fumbling for her phone. Groaning in exasperation you wave down another cab and shove Karen inside. You give the cab driver your address and try to assuage whether or not you're going to be dealing with Karen's vomit over the course of this car ride. There were some shaky moments, but you got Karen out of the car vomit free (the cab driver's relief was tangible). As you stand outside your apartment building, Karen's arm slung over your shoulder, you hesitate. Heavily. First and foremost-- no one comes over to your apartment. That was the deal you struck with Elektra, not because of overtly personal reasons, but because your apartment was still... a work in progress. It was barely hospitable to you and Elektra, let alone guests, but such was the sacrifice for such cheap rent. Karen groaned as she pressed her cheek into your shoulder. Looks like you were stuck.

Sighing, you used your free hand to turn the knob and nudge the front door open with your hip. The inside is black. Clumsily, you feel around for the stairway. When your hand clasped around the handrail you began the task of bringing Karen up the stairs, which was easier than you feared. Karen became cognizant when you reached your apartment door on the second floor. 

"______, where are we...?" She asked dazedly. "This isn't my house..."

"You couldn't remember where your house is so I bought you to mine." You state matter-of-factly. Karen makes a noise of disbelief.

"I don't... wanna sleep with you..." She said warily. You laugh out loud.

"Me either." 

After rummaging through your pockets for your keys, you managed to unlock your front door and guide Karen to the couch. The place was still dark when you entered; you don't think Elektra is home. Streams of light from the street outside your window cast shadows on the pale walls of your bare apartment. It's enough light that you're still able to somewhat see and move around, which was good. You and Elektra had to avoid turning on the lights or using electricity as much as possible, at least until next month when you could get a generator or something. Once Karen is settled, you duck into your room to change into your lazy day clothes-slash-pajamas from before and weigh in on a good excuse to tell Elektra. 

You peer into her room-- nothing. Elektra wasn't home and you weren't sure what was more problematic: her being out or her being here. If she came in now or any time before you could get Karen to leave, that would be bad-- Elektra wouldn't actually hurt anyone, but she would _not_ be happy, and despite the weird on-off friend thing you have going on with her you still need Elektra as a roommate to help support the rent. 

You literally can't afford for her to leave, especially not because you inadvertently pissed her off by violating a pretty basic ground rule. 

Whoa, okay, that's something you definitely don't want to think about right now. You begin distracting yourself by searching for aspirin to have ready for Karen in the morning. You become so involved in the task that you don't even look up when the floorboards creak loudly by your door.

"Karen, did you need somethi--"

"Is that who's on the couch?" An accented voice asks with a note of condescension in your doorway. Your heart leaps into your throat. Shit.

"E-Elektra?" You startle, badly. Shit, shit, shit. She doesn't look completely pissed, but Elektra hosts that special kind of anger where her victims think they've gotten off easy, when really, they're past the point of no return. The calmer she looks the worse it tends to be. You had never been on the receiving end of it until now.

"We agreed." She said, leaning against the door with her arms nonchalantly crossed. The excuses that you had armed and ready had fled, disappeared, gone in a shock of smoke. Your mouth worked soundlessly as you mentally grasped at straws trying to find something non-incriminating to say, to offset the obvious transgression sleeping on the couch in the room over. "Why is she here?" Elektra asked, her eyes cold and expectant.

"I went for drinks with some friends." You say defensively, suddenly feeling small. You hate it.

"Are you drunk too?" Elektra scoffs. You inhale sharply.

" _I am not!_ " You hiss, furious.

"Make sure she leaves by morning." Elektra dismissed you abruptly, disappearing into her room. She leaves you fuming in her wake, knotting your duvet in your fists as you try to calm down. 

You can't afford to have her leave, you keep thinking.

You fall into a fitful sleep.


	5. 'the muttering retreats'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you schmooze with Matt and talk plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! Chapters will be picking up semi-daily (roughly every other day) and hopefully be getting a little longer as stuff begins to unfold. I'm sorry this one is so short, I kind of ran into some writer's block with this chapter. Hopefully I'll hit my stride next chapter.
> 
> Thank you again to my one faithful commenter, I'm always grateful I've got at least one person reading my story (as far as I can tell), you make my day.

Matt inhaled, information flooding his senses. He was picking up on a lot of dust.

He mulled over the air, carefully regarding the other scents underneath-- there was the dirt stamped into the carpet, the stray strains of ink from the photocopier behind the front lobby desk, there was a whiff of a student's pungent perfume on the second floor... ah, there it was. You. Matt knew the layout of the library by rote, but feigned ignorance by allowing his hip to bump against one of the chairs surrounding the several study tables on the main floor. His face was a perfect expression of mild surprise and irritation, the kind that normal blind people tend to have when they inadvertently bump into things, of course.

"Matt?" He heard your voice, distinct and surprised. He angled his head.

"______." He smiled, tapping his cane over to the front lobby desk. "Hello."

"Hey, what brings you here?" You asked. Matt paused a beat, allowing himself to indulge in a moment of smelling the soap that wafted off of his new friend's skin. He wanted to try and guess the scent, but he didn't want to pause too long or risk making you uncomfortable.

New friend. That was new. The way he went about things, there were people in his life and people that weren't. Rarely was there an official "friend" status, but of course that was one of many things that Foggy changed when he happened to stumble (more like crash) into Matt's life. 

"Thurgood Marshall." Matt responded, flashing you another amicable smile. "I've been looking for something along the lines of a biography for him for about a month now, I need it for a project." Your heartbeat quickened in his ears.

"O-Oh, yeah, sure. Just give me a second..." You stutter, heartbeat overshadowed by the loud click of keyboard keys. He hears you hum. "Uh, we have one biography for Thurgood Marshall, second floor. You need help...?" You ask reluctantly. Matt felt you wince after asking the question, and you give a small embarrassed laugh. "I mean, I can show you."

"I'd appreciate it." Matt replied teasingly, raising his cane in a vague gesture to his eyes. 

Matt could sense the quiet nervousness of his companion as they made their way through the musty corridors, his cane making muffled, rhythmic taps on the carpeted floors. He felt you hesitate when they approached the stairs, and heard your startled breath as he effortlessly walked upwards towards the second floor. Matt noted your heartbeat remained a little higher than normal, although not alarmingly so. You both approached the biography section when Matt spoke.

"Am I unsettling you?" He asked, amused. He hears you audibly stumble over your words, fumbling for a response. 

"...You don't act like a blind person." You admit finally, sounding apologetic. 

"I don't." Matt laughed. "I tend to unsettle people, but if it's any consolation," He heard the shuffle of books and the crinkle of plastic covers and the shuffle of feet. "I only do it to make things easier."

"Do what? Not act blind?" You ask, straining slightly as you try to glimpse at one of the higher shelves. 

"Something like that." Matt smiled wryly. He tried to keep the smugness from his expression when he heard your heartbeat pick up again. "Figured that if I act normal I'd save people the trouble of assuming I need things done for me."

"Don't you?" You asked over your shoulder.

"Sometimes. Not always." Matt clarified. "I can navigate places well enough-- once I've been through it once or twice." He heard another hum of acknowledgement, books still shuffling. "Looking for books--" He continued, "Is a little harder." He chuckled. 

"Wait a minute," You said suddenly, turning around with Thurgood Marshall in hand. "If you can't see, why get a book-- I mean, this isn't in Braille."

"Nope, it isn't." Matt conceded, "But there's Foggy, so..." He trailed off as you laughed. 

"He must love that."

"What? It's not like he can say no." Matt felt satisfied at your huff of amusement, graciously taking the book from your hands. "Either way, thank you for your help." 

"Anytime, Matt, it's my job." Waving him off, you began to lead the way down the stairs. "Tell Foggy I said hi."

"Actually, ______--" Matt said, stopping you.

"I was wondering if you'd like to get some coffee when you're done."

# __________

And that's how you found yourself sitting across from Matt in yet another dive bar.

"You and Foggy are real fans of the hipster joints, huh?" You ask, eyes darting around the small cafe, sipping the hot beverage you cradled in your hands.

"I suppose so," Matt grins modestly, "A lot of the time the local places have the best tasting food."

"Oh, so you're too good for mainstream eateries?" You quip, smirking from behind your mug. Matt chuckles.

"No, I just have... refined taste." Matt replies tactfully. 

"Is that a way of saying you're picky?" Your question is met with a surprisingly resounding laugh. 

"Maybe." Matt had half a mind to keep the banter going, but remembered there was a reason he was there. "How is the project going with you and Karen?"

"Better. We've finally got an angle, and that's already way more than we had a week ago." You profess, sipping the last of your drink. Frowning, you glance at the beverage's remnants at the bottom of the cup. "I mean, we're not _far._ But we have a goal, we're finally getting somewhere." You shrug, but the action stutters as you realize the gesture is lost on Matt. "Oh, uh, sorry... I just--"

"Shrugged?" He guesses, a faint and knowing smile playing at his lips at your noise of disbelief.

"How--?" You ask, astonished.

"Lucky guess." Matt says almost a little cryptically, pausing to taste his own drink. "So, the project?" He begins again, redirecting the conversation.

"You're really interested in this project, Mr. Murdock." You reply, lightly joking.

"Here I thought I was being subtle." The embarrassed upward turn of Matt's mouth suggests he's been caught in a slight faux pas.

"Here I thought I was being wined and dined." You outwardly tease, ignoring the twinge of disappointment in your chest. Matt's smile turns apologetic.

"I do enjoy your company, really." Matt clarifies, "I just think-- I can help with this project of yours." You raise a questioning eyebrow and berate yourself for it almost immediately.

"I um, just raised an eyebrow at that." You narrate, and Matt nods.

"You're dealing with a legal story here. It's law-- something me and Foggy know fairly well." He continues. "There's a lot to Berkley National, the debacle with the tenants is nothing new."

"How so?"

"Berkley, from what we've found, is not only a construction company, they're in real estate too-- and marketing, to some extent. From the looks of it, it appears they're trying to accomplish a sort of vertical integration within New York City's housing market."

"So, they're trying to flush out competition by being a jack-of-all trades kind of deal. If they're good at building houses and selling them--" You begin.

"Then customers would have no reason to do business with other companies, yes." Matt finishes. "Except Berkley isn't good at building houses _or_ selling them. Although this is the first record me and Foggy could find of them being sued, they've had quite a few cases of safety code violations on their hands, among other things-- all glossed over by handsome financial incentives, I'm sure." 

"You're sure, but not certain." You point out, "You're sure it's bribery?"

"Some have come forward claiming they've received a pretty penny for not throwing Berkley under the bus to the BSC-- typically construction workers and would-be tenants. Compensation, what have you." 

"In any case, it's not that much of a surprise they're getting into trouble now, isn't it? If they're that incompetent it was just a matter of time." You continue. 

"Basically," Matt agrees. "And anyone could chalk it up to sheer ineptitude on Berkley's part and leave it at that, no story there. But of course, safety problems always mean someone is cutting corners somewhere, and bribery always means there's something to hide." You pause for long moment.

"So you think Berkley's responsible for the other fraud cases too?" 

"I think," Matt says, "It's something worth looking into."

"Fair enough." You say. "So does this make you and Foggy unofficial group members?" Matt laughs.

"I think so."


End file.
